


Looked After

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Worship, Couch Sex, Domestic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a thing for Harold's tummy. Harold is a little self-conscious, but willing to indulge him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looked After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [photonromance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/gifts).



> Ok but I'm not even kidding about the length of John's couch. [Look at it](http://screencapped.net/tv/personofinterest/displayimage.php?album=61&pid=158257#top_display_media). ~~They need to have so much sex in this apartment I s2g~~

John interlocks his fingers behind his own head, then stretches his arms out upwards until his hands separate. He sinks a little further into the cushions, back resting against one end of the couch, a bit sore and tired but overwhelmingly content, watching Finch putter around in his kitchen, in the apartment Finch bought for him.

 

"This is a very long sofa." John points out, as Harold walks over to join him. He's taken off his jacket and he's wearing one of his sleeveless cardigans instead of a vest; the softer fabric hugs the curve of his belly rather than hiding it.

 

"Is it? Well, I wanted you to have somewhere to stretch out." Harold touches John's shin as he sits down, carefully balancing his cup of tea in his other hand. Before he can tuck John's feet into his lap, John slides them off the edge and plants them on the floor, spins himself around.

 

"Where are you going?"

 

"Nowhere." John settles his cheek on Harold's left knee, curls up on his side with his back to the room. Harold blinks at him, holding his hot drink well out of the way, then gradually relaxes, free hand coming to rest on John's shoulder. John adds "I've never had anyone take into account the length of my legs when picking furniture for me before."

 

"I should hope not. I'm the only one with your measurements." Harold takes a pointed sip of his tea - from this angle John can watch his throat bob as the liquid goes down.

 

"You think of everything, don't you." He idly slips one finger through a gap between the buttons on the cardigan, lightly scrapes his nail against the smooth warmth of Harold's shirt beneath.

 

"I certainly did not foresee the use to which you would put that closet."

 

John laughs. "Really? You've been on at me to move my arsenal for months."

 

"Yes, but even so. What if there were a fire? It's awfully close to the kitchen..."

 

John retracts his finger and pats Finch's stomach with his palm. "Don't fret, it's safe."

 

Harold sniffs. "If you say so, Mr. Reese."

 

John aims his best disarming grin upwards, before tilting his head down again and lightly kissing Harold's thigh. He feels the leg twitch minutely in response, but otherwise Finch remains perfectly calm, sipping away at his tea, thumb stroking small arcs at John's shoulder. John gives it a few minutes before trying anything else, just lying there and breathing, knees pushed against the back of the couch, comfortable.

 

Then he reaches out with both hands and starts to unbutton Finch's cardigan from the bottom up. Finch doesn't react other than to glance down at him; the almost imperceptible twitch of a muscle in his cheek gives away that he's trying not to smile. Finished with the cardigan's buttons, John grasps handfuls of the shirt and tugs upwards - it moves a little, but not enough. All of a sudden he's impatient, scoots forward and buries his face in Finch's side, breath hot over softly bulging fabric. He presses a firm kiss into Finch's belly, the flesh allows it and springs back with him; John squeezes playfully at love handles that aren't quite there yet, but almost.

 

He hears Finch ask "What _are_ you doing?" Not upset or uncomfortable, just perplexed. "I mean, I get that you're attempting to undress me, but this fascination with my middle..."

 

"I like it. I like you." John moves away a bit so his voice is not so muffled. "You have a bit of a tummy. Means I'm looking after you." Then he goes right back to rubbing his nose above the line of Finch's belt, until his teeth catch at a shirt button and he toys with biting it off...but Finch probably wouldn't like that.

 

"It means I've had a few too many breakfast pastries." Harold says.

 

John lets go of the button. "So? Better that than you working so hard you forget to eat all day." Finch concedes this point with a quirk of his mouth, but he keeps talking, so he's apparently not satisfied.

 

"I am trying to do some more exercise. I used to be very disciplined about it. Had my own treadmill at IFT."

 

John stops walking his fingertips up towards Finch's nipple and stares at him. "Did you? I didn't know that." John can't picture Finch running, but of course he must have done, before the accident. His right hand curves gently over Finch's hip, and for the first time John wishes it could heal, so he could see that. Go jogging together in the park, with Bear.

 

"You'd better let me put this down." He's holding his teacup and trying to sit up. John realises Harold can't reach the table with John in the way, so he shifts himself onto his back and pulls his knees up, reluctantly removing himself from Harold's lap, twisting until he's sitting upright on the couch like normal. Harold puts down the cup and gets to his feet. A little knot of unease forms in John's own gut. Is Finch going to leave now? Had he hit a nerve without meaning to?

 

"It's not...I've put weight on too," he tries, clumsily, as Harold walks away from him across the floor.

 

But he's just going to the wardrobe. The other one, not the gun closet. He's peeling the cardigan off his shoulders and putting it away as he says "Yes, John, but you started out _emaciated_."

 

"I..." John fumbles, not knowing how to fix this. But Finch is pulling his shirt out of his waistband, unbuttoning it, hanging it up and smoothing out the creases. He's not leaving. So John says "You looked after me."

 

Harold returns to the couch in his plain white t-shirt and black trousers and sits down at John's side. He twists the upper half of his body to face John, eyes very serious behind his glasses. Then he kisses John, hard. He tugs John to him by the ear, winds his other arm tight across John's chest, fingers digging into John's shoulder. John groans and kisses back and falls into him; it takes him a moment to realise he's being dragged on top of Finch, Harold controlling their descent so as not to hurt his back. He finds himself lying on his front between Finch's legs, being mercilessly kissed and ground up against. He shudders with pleasure and follows where he's led, which happens to be _down_ , after Finch wrenches their mouths apart and gasps into the air "Go on, John." With the hand not clenched in John's hair, Finch pulls up his own t-shirt to just below his nipples, exposing his belly.

 

"Finch," John says, strangled, unable to express his gratitude. Harold smiles and lets go of his hair. John scrambles back a little along the ridiculously long sofa until his head's at stomach-height, and then gets really comfortable, kissing along the thin trail of hair emerging from Harold's pants. His weight's not on Harold, so he doesn't have to prop himself up, leaving his hands free to roam up and down his sides, slip under his back and glide towards his ass. Finch arches his spine at that as best he can, cock noticeably thickening in his trousers - John can feel the bulge pressing near his sternum as he's leaning just above. He lets a little of his weight press down on Finch's groin and goes back to exploring his belly, nosing through Harold's chest hair, nipping at smooth warm skin now and then just to hear Harold's breathing hitch. His stubble scrapes when he moves his head suddenly. Harold laughs.

 

"What?" John pauses to ask, all innocence.

 

"Nothing," Finch replies fondly, but it's something - John senses him vibrating with amusement. "Tickles." He confesses finally, clearly finding the admission undignified.

 

John grins and does it again, deliberately this time.

 

Finch clutches at the back of John's neck. "Any more of that and you'll be back up here, Mr. Reese."

 

"A terrible punishment," John retorts, then delicately flicks the tip of his tongue into Finch's belly button, banishing all amusement. Which shouldn't work, on its own, but John knows Finch is thinking exactly the same as him, about John doing the same to his ass, or the head of his cock.

 

He brings his hands back up, fingers tracing random patterns as he licks and licks again. There's a tiny spot of dampness forming against Reese's chest where he's resting on Finch's groin. He nuzzles Finch's belly for just a little longer before reaching for his belt. "Do you want me to finish you off now?"

 

Harold makes a desperate sort of noise. "I've been halfway to embarrassing myself since you curled up with your head on my knee."

 

"Is that a yes?" Teasing just because he can.

 

" _Yes_ , John. Please."

 

He spends the next twenty minutes taking Harold to the brink and back. John thoroughly enjoys himself, and is sure Harold does too, despite the bitten-off curses and sharp dig of his nails into John's scalp every time he pauses just short of giving Harold what he needs to tip him over. When it finally happens, Finch lets out a relieved, shuddering moan. This is music to John's ears and he comes in his pants as he drinks it all down.

 

Afterwards, they sprawl out and catch their breath. John rests his head on Harold's belly and enjoys the way it rises and falls gently with each inhale and exhale. He finds himself just kissing and kissing it, unwilling to stop. Finch strokes his clever fingers through John's hair, over and over, and never tells John to quit before he's ready.


End file.
